Appreciating Molly
by gopadfoot
Summary: Something is off with Molly. Sherlock deduced that she's physically well, but she's avoiding people more and more. Can Sherlock figure her out? More importantly, can he help?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Looking at the results of my poll, I was surprised to see that Molly ranked #1, tied with Sherlock, for characters people want to see more ( you can still take the poll on my profile). So I decided to write a Molly-based piece.

This was inspired by darthsydious's excellent story, "Appreciating Mycroft." Only this one is about appreciating Molly. This will be a two-shot.

* * *

While more than one person had started to become suspicious, it was Sherlock who put the pieces together. Which was part of his job description. Only this wasn't a case from Scotland Yard, and didn't relate to crime of any sort. This was the Mystery of the Missing Molly.

Molly Hooper had been missing the last three times Sherlock sought her out at the lab. The detective, at first, put it down to the fallout of the Fateful Phone Call, reasoning that such an exchange of sentiment would lead to awkwardness on both their parts. In truth, he was himself uncertain about how to act around her.

Sherlock started to become worried when Mike Stamford mentioned that Dr. Hooper had been taking off a lot lately. When Sherlock questioned him more thoroughly, Stamford admitted that Molly hadn't been looking her best lately. She had looked fatigued, had been more subdued than usual, and her appearance in general implied that she wasn't looking after herself.

"She said she was a bit under the weather," the doctor related. "Perhaps it's more of a long term illness- mono?" He looked at Sherlock, as if expecting him to deduce the truth. Sherlock took his leave without replying.

The detective called his pathologist, on the pretext of needing her help on a case. She replied that she wasn't feeling her best, but would make an effort to come in. When Molly arrived, the detective immediately began to deduce her, and wasn't pleased with what he found.

Molly was pale, and had puffy bags under her eyes, scarcely concealed with sloppily applied cover-up. Her clothing was wrinkled in places, and her hair was gathered in a very messy ponytail. Molly had also lost some weight. Sherlock observed her at work. She didn't seem to be in pain, she wasn't wincing, or favoring one side over the other, or biting her lips at any point, all of which would be telltale signs of physical discomfort. There were no other signs of a physical malady, no hoarseness, coughing, swollen glands in her throat, tremors or shakiness. She didn't appear feverish or flushed.

The detective did notice that although her hands were steady, her movements seemed half-hearted. She cut at a slower pace, seeming to barely pay attention. What struck him the most was her tone of voice as she answered his questions. It was flat, monotonous, nearly lifeless, he thought. There was none of her usual curiosity as she inquired about the background of the case. She kept her questions to a minimum, and her answers were terse.

 _Depression,_ Sherlock concluded with a start. _But...Molly? Why? Why now?_ He thought he could ask her directly. In his gentlest voice, he asked, "Molly, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answered dully.

"You don't look it," he persisted.

"I'm getting over something," the pathologist replied, with the same flat affect. "Nothing to worry about."

"I hope you get better soon," Sherlock replied. "I need my pathologist!"

"Oh," Molly answered flatly. "I'm sure Mike can find a replacement. There are others who are highly qualified."

"Of course, but I'm used to working with you," the detective said, puzzled.

"I'm sure you can get used to someone else, too."

Sherlock watched uneasily as she finished her work, stated her findings, and left.

His next port of call was John. "Have you noticed anything off with Molly?" Sherlock asked his friend bluntly. John had, indeed, noticed something. Molly had stopped offering to babysit Rosie, telling him that she was sure there were plenty of others who would be thrilled to step in, like Mrs. Hudson, and even Mrs. Holmes, who had been charmed by the little tyke.

Sherlock continued his investigations, interrogating Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly's other workmates. Everyone had seen that something was wrong. Molly had told them all that she was a bit under the weather. What nagged at Sherlock was that she had added, in every conversation, that she was sure someone else could take over her duties, and that they would manage just fine without her.

Conclusion: Molly Hooper thought she wasn't of much worth to anyone. And she was slipping into depression. What was a consulting detective to do?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I'll admit that this wasn't easy to write, mainly because of all the different character's included, and me trying to keep them in character. I hope this does your expectations justice. Please let me know what you think!

Also, I don't generally do ships. This isn't a Sherlolly per se, but if you want to see it that way, who am I to stop you? But this is definitely Sherlock/Molly strong friendship.

* * *

Sherlock knew he couldn't do this himself. He organized a conference of those nearest and dearest to his pathologist, to get their input. Although it wasn't his usual MO, he would deign to listen to the advice of others in order to save the one who meant so much to him.

John suggested throwing a "Get Well Soon" bash, complete with balloons, streamers, and gifts. Mike and Sherlock quickly objected, claiming that it would overwhelm Molly. Big bashes were not her style. Greg remarked that the idea wasn't a bad one, but it would have to be scaled down.

"What if," Sherlock mused, "we get everyone to visit, but only one at a time? Tell her how much we miss her, bring her a personalized gift?"

Sally Donavan spoke up suddenly. Although she wasn't working in under Lestrade any longer, she had formed a tentative friendship with Molly, after the Sergeant had burst into the morgue on the eve of Sherlock's faked suicide, and cried that she wanted to see Sherlock, and say how sorry she was for causing his death. But that is a story for another time.

"It's not all about gifts, you knuckleheads," she admonished them, but there was a hint of teasing in her voice. "I think Molly feels that she's only being used for what she can contribute, both for being herself. When was the last time any of you showed any interest in her as a person? When did any of you last inquire about her interests, hobbies, personal life? Yes, you thank her for all she does, her work and babysitting and whatnot, but does she know that she is appreciated as a person, too?"

The four men all wore sheepish expressions on their faces, while Mrs. Hudson applauded and beamed at Sally. "Good girl! You tell them! Come to think of it, I don't think she even gets thanked for what she does."

"Men," Sally muttered, rolling her eyes in disgust.

"So basically, we need to make it personal," John summed up. "Show her that we care about _her,_ not only about what she can do."

"Yeah, that seems about right," Greg agreed. "But we need to remind her how much we appreciate everything she does, too."

"And how much we miss her," Mike mused.

"What say you, freak?" Sally jabbed her finger at Sherlock. She only calls him by that nickname because he had insisted, claiming that a Sally Donovan makeover was too much change for him to bear. But that, too, is another story.

"I agree with all the ladies here," he said, and gesturds at John, Mike and Lestrade. They looked indignant, while Sally and Mrs. Hudson cracked up. Then they all got serious and started planning.

* * *

Molly wasn't surprised when Mike came over. He was her supervisor at work, and it's considered common courtesy that he show interest. Besides, he was probably short-staffed and would try to encourage her to come back.

He immediately disproved that theory. "Don't get me wrong, Molly, I'd love to have you back, but that isn't why I came. I want you to take care of yourself. I just want to let you know how different everything is without you. When Damione and Tina start bickering again, there's no one who can calm them down like you do. Not to mention when Sherlock shows up... You add something indefinable to the atmosphere.

"I'm being selfish, too, I'll admit. I miss seeing you around. There aren't many who look at me like a real person instead of the fat professor. Keep that in mind, alright?"

The two chatted a bit more, and Stamford left her with the latest book in her favorite series, a crime thriller. Someone had done his research. Molly smiled a bit, which was something she hadn't done in a long time.

The pathologist was a bit more surprised to see Sally. They were friends, but not very close. Molly, in fact, didn't have _any_ close friends. That was a big part of the reason she had started to wonder if there was something very wrong with her. Unsuccessful romances, no family, and friends who took more than they gave were the other parts. After Sherlock's phone call, she had felt so humiliated and exposed, that it was enough to upset her equilibrium.

It didn't matter much when she found out the reason behind the phone call. In fact, it made it worse. She had a bloody audience watching how she exposed her deepest feelings, and that added to her humiliation. The fact that Sherlock was under duress told her that he hadn't meant a thing he said. He had told her she was his friend, and that he loved her. He had said it to save her life, which was very magnanimous of him, but she was still only a pathologist that sometimes assisted him.

"Hey, girl, who's been skiving off now?" Sally asked her with a grin. "I hope you have a good excuse, or I'll need to arrest you."

"Who's been snitching?" Molly retorted, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Oh, I've heard some pieces here and there. Talked to Greg last week, and met Dr. Watson the other day. So, I thought, my friend's under the weather, and can't be bothered to let me know. I need to take revenge. And here I am, and I'm staying. You"ll have to suffer my company for the next few hours," Sally said saucily.

The Sergeant had brought take-out and DVD's. They were all comedies. The two girls watched until their sides nearly split from laughter. Molly realized with a start that she had laughed in a way she never thought she would again. At that moment, nothing else mattered but laughing her had off with careless abandon, with her friend at her side.

"We should do this again," Sally said seriously when the hour got late. "I don't have many female friends, especially in the department I work. The few women there are too competitive for that. With you, I can just sit and laugh. Or cry. You don't judge me for my career, my gender, or the color of my skin. Hell, you don't even judge me for the way I used to act, and all the messes I made. You are something else, Molly Hooper, and I'm glad we're friends."

When Lestrade showed up two days later, Molly finally smelled a rat. "What's going on, Greg? Are you people throwing me a pity party?"

" _Pity party?"_ the DI retorted. "What gives you that idea?"

"I'm not- I'm not stupid, you know. Despite what some may think," she added bitterly. "People showing up, bearing gifts, within days of each other. What else could it be?"

"Look, Molly," Greg said sheepishly. "I know this sounds strange. Yes, we are worried about you. But we miss you, too. Honestly and truly. Look, you know I'm a terrible liar. You would see straight through me if I was lying. I miss working with you, but I miss your friendship even more.

"Let me tell you one thing Molly, if you weren't there to support me through my messy divorce, I don't know where I would be. You were able to calm me before I got dragged further in, and you would always sense when I just needed some good, old-fashioned support. So I'm here to tell you to stop deluding yourself, and see how much you mean to us. Now is my chance to tell you that I'm here for you, Molly."

Molly bit her lips to restrain herself from crying. Greg's words had touched her in a very deep place. "Come in," she said softly, as she realized they were standing at the doorway. The rest of the visit was lighthearted, and Greg left her with a gift of a new set of coffee mugs, with #1 Pathologist emblazoned on one, and #1 Friend on the other.

When Mrs. Hudson showed up at her flat with blueberry scones and mince pies, Molly Hooper wasn't surprised. She was expecting a visit, and she had had fun guessing who it would be now. They sampled the goodies over tea and small talk. Mrs. Hudson related the latest shenanigans of her erstwhile tenant, and Molly reciprocated with some of her own anecdotes. There was talk of body parts in all the wrong places, and escapades that caused heart-stopping terror, but ended in utter hilarity. Pretty soon they were both giggling together.

"You know, Molly," the older woman said gently. "I hardly see you around anymore. We used to have such fun watching Rosie together, or just talking. An old woman like me gets lonely sometimes," she winked.

"You have Sherlock. And John comes over pretty often," Molly protested.

"Of course. My boys are wonderful. It's just that sometimes, I need some sane company too, before I end up in the loony bin," Mrs. Hudson said with a roll of her eyes. "And I would love to have some girl company, too," she looked at Molly meaningfully. "Men are... men."

Molly placed a small hand over one of the older woman's. "I'll stop by, Mrs. Hudson. I promise."

"Take care of yourself, Molly. I brought you some homemade dinners, which you can put in the freezer. You need some fattening up, if I may say so. There _is_ such a thing as being too thin, you know." Molly rolled her eyes, but something inside of her warmed at being mothered.

The pathologist had been sort of hoping for Sherlock, but wasn't disappointed when John came next. The intervals were never longer than two or three days, which didn't leave her with much time to mope, but enough time to anticipate.

He brought the most delightful gift she could dream of; a happy, gurgling Rosie. As she smothered her goddaughter in kisses, she simultaneously smothered the guilt over avoiding her for so long.

"It's good to see you both," she told John earnestly.

"We both missed you. A lot," said the doctor. With his usual forthrightness, he jumped right into his monologue. "I can't believe you never realized how much you mean to me. At first, I saw you as someone that Sherlock trusted, and I was glad he had another person to support him. Over the years, you came to mean so much more. Disregarding everything you've done for Sherlock, you became _my_ friend.

"You were there for me when I thought I lost him. You were there for me when he came back, and got himself into one mess after the other. You accepted Mary as a friend right away..." John choked up a bit. "And then you were there when I lost her. You helped me keep my sanity. I would have fallen apart completely without you. You were there everyday, anytime I needed you...even when I didn't appreciate it. Even when I was stupid and self-absorbed.

"You did everything without fanfare, not expecting any gratitude or recognition. You became a second mother to Rosie. There's no one she loves like she loves you. I think she even prefers you to me. I feel like a piece of dirt, over the way I treated you sometimes, not seeing what was in front of my eyes. I'm sorry, Molly. I should have never taken you for granted."

"It's okay, John," the pathologist answered, her voice breaking. "Anyone... anyone would have done it. I'm used to, I'm used to this."

"You shouldn't be," John said firmly. "You deserve far, far better, Molly Hooper."

Molly bit her lips, and then shook her head. She felt her tears welling up, and felt helpless to stop then from dripping down. The tears were followed by deep, anguished sobs, as Molly ofinally admitted to herself how much she needed to hear this. John embraced her gently as she poured years of self-doubt, loneliness, and anguish into his shoulder. When she composed herself, she felt lighter, freer. Someone felt she deserved better, and she could finally tell that to herself, too.

The next visitor was a totally unexpected one. The pathologist greeted the man cordially, and offered him tea. The visitor graciously accepted, as he took a seat and leaned his umbrella on the wall.

"Miss Hooper," he said, in his typical condescending manner. "I've been hearing about your... difficulties. I would like to offer my assistance, in any matter you may require."

"Oh...uh..." Molly was at loss for words. "I'm fine... I think. Just a bit under the weather..."

"Miss Hooper," the man said gently. " _Dr._ Hooper," he corrected himself. "If I may hazard a guess, some of your difficulties are related to what happened that night my brother called you." He held up a hand as if to forestall arguments. "I was there, you understand. I will be frank with you. The events of the day were not... easy, for anyone involved, and I am no exception."

Mycroft Holmes, the man who had come to invade her privacy, drummed his fingers on the table, lost in thought. Molly watched him in fascination. The British Government suddenly looked more human and vulnerable than she had ever seen him.

"There were many significant occurrences that day. Revelations, and consequences... I had no control at all. I was imprisoned, along with Sherlock and Dr. Watson, and I had no clue what was coming next. I was helpless as my sister performed one experiment after the other on us.

"I would say that I can relate a bit to the feeling of being an object of experimentation. Afterwards, I was, and still am, dealing with the guilt for my involvement in the disaster. It was my fault, Dr. Hooper. In my foolish arrogance, I started the chain of events. I would therefore like to perform some restitution for those involved. Please, tell me what you need, and let me give it to you."

Molly wasn't surprised; she was flabbergasted. "Mr. Holmes," she addressed him uncertainly. "That's- that's a pretty far stretch. Even if you made a mistake, you didn't mean to harm anybody. What your sister did is her own responsibility, not yours."

He gave her a bittersweet smile. "You're the first one to think that way."

"I'm sure that's not true," she protested. "What about Sherlock... your parents, John, I'm sure they don't blame you."

"Would that it were true," Mycroft sighed. "It is no more than I deserve. But you, Dr. Hooper, haven't gotten what you deserve. I've watched from the sidelines, noticing what you've done for my brother. I've seen how he's treated you, expecting full devotion while never offering even a thank you in return. In truth, he's treated many others in that way, but few could stand to suffer him.

"I saw the moment he realized that. When you made hime say those words, that's when he realized that while you've always been there for him, he wasn't there for you in return. He meant it. I know my brother, and I could clearly see he meant every word he said. I can't say that he has romantic feelings, but I do know that you are someone very dear to him."

Molly silently absorbed his words. "I hear. I can even believe that... but why was he avoiding me afterwards?"

"For the same reason you were avoiding him," the Iceman smiled ironically. "Not knowing whether you really meant what you said."

"Oh," was all she said.

"By the way, I've heard that you've been given paid leave. In fact, your leave has been extended, and your employer is giving you a paid holiday, your choice of destination, along with two others of your choice. I hope you have a nice time," he said smoothly.

"You can't do that!" Molly immediately protested.

"Pardon me, do what?" the British Government asked blankly.

Molly gave up, and accompanied him to the door. "By the way, Mr. Holmes," she said casually. "You deserve better, too."

There were no more surprises, only Sherlock and a bunch of flowers in her favorite colors. When she offered to make tea, he gently guided her to a chair and made the tea himself. "I stayed over enough to know my way around," he informed her.

"Sherlock?" she said suddenly, before he was able to start speaking. "Let's do something fun."

"Of course, my lady," he said in an exaggerated French accent. "You just make a request, and I vill give you ze vorld."

She giggled. "How about a museum? With skeletons, and history, and a lot of people to deduce?"

"Sounds excellent."

"So let's go!" the pathologist said excitedly.

They went, and had a great, lighthearted time. They both knew that they would have to have some serious discussions, and tell each other what they could and couldn't give in their changing relationship. But for now, Molly just wanted to have a good time with a good friend. She just wanted to feel alive again.

When they parted, Sherlock pecked her on the cheek, and told her seriously, "Thank you, Molly Hooper. Thank you for letting me into your life."


End file.
